


Don't Suffer Fools

by Loudest_Voice



Category: Naruto
Genre: Character Death, Dimension Travel, F/M, M/M, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudest_Voice/pseuds/Loudest_Voice
Summary: Itachi goes to sleep and wakes up in another man's life. Obviously, it's an elaborate genjutsu, but one he has very little motivation to fight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back(ish)! These last few weeks have been rough, but I'm off the surgical team starting this Tuesday, so I should have more time to write. Have some self-indulgent fic from me. Thanks a lot to [luvsanime02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02) for beta-reading as usual.
> 
> That being said, I messed around with tenses post-betaing so any mistakes with that are my own.

Itachi didn’t know how he would bear the trip through Kiri and into Ice Country with his lungs acting up. Every time he learned to live with less air, his lungs clogged up a little more. It couldn’t just be the cooling weather since his breath was never freer once spring and summer rolled back around, no matter what the various medics he harassed kept promising. 

“I could handle this mission on my own, Itachi,” said Kisame.

Curse the man for seeing through him. “That won’t be necessary.” He was getting over-dramatic about having to wear a heavier jacket and gloves.

“We’ve already established that I know of your illness,” insisted Kisame. “What purpose does your posturing serve now?”

Itachi looked out the window to give the impression that he was searching for an answer. He didn’t have one that would satisfy Kisame, and he respected the man’s twisted ideals enough to avoid lying to him. Any more than was necessary. 

“At least consider my offer overnight,” said Kisame. 

Itachi opened his mouth. “All right.” Not what he meant to say, but it seemed that even an iota of trust in any relationship compelled him to let someone else take charge. 

“Good. I have personal business to attend to in these parts,” said Kisame, then exited the hotel room. 

Itachi stared out the window, his Sharingan deactivated. A blur that he assumed was a browning leaf swayed downwards. He heard raindrops hitting the window glass long before the sight of them penetrated through the fog that passed for his vision lately. His eyesight was going faster than he had anticipated.

Self-pity would get him nowhere, and neither would pretending he could rely on Kisame. The man was honorable in his own way, but if he ever realized that Itachi was not loyal to Akatsuki’s mad ideals. . . Well, Itachi didn’t know what would happen. People rarely saw past Kisame’s monstrous, aggressive exterior, and thus gave him much less credit than he deserved. Perhaps he knew of Itachi’s true loyalties and spared some fondness for him anyway. Out of pity or amusement, Itachi couldn’t hazard a guess.

Sighing, Itachi got up and went to the mattress. They probably didn’t need to subject themselves to a ratty inn with a lump for a mat, but Kisame always let Itachi pick their rest stops, and Itachi was drawn to such places. Probably for some pointless masochistic reason that some people Itachi would prefer to forget would deride him for. 

He wrapped a thin blanket around his shoulders, even though if he was ambushed, removing it would cost him a few precious seconds. 

Mere moments later, he sighed and lifted the thin blanket. Lying flat made it harder to breathe, and the hosts had not provided him with a pillow. He bunched up the blanket and put it under his head, then hugged his shoulders and used chakra to keep himself warm. Exhaustion coaxed him into a fitful sleep, then his sickness swallowed him up. He had a faint thought about how much Sasuke needed him before fading into the fever, too weak to fight it for once. He didn’t have the energy to care if he didn’t wake up.

But he did wake up. In a different place.

Itachi could not keep his heart from racing for a few seconds, but he had enough wits left not to move. There was someone wrapped around him, and whoever they were, they had been strong enough to sneak into his room, move him, and. . . wrap themselves around him. To spoon him, for some unfathomable reason. 

The person sensed him waking and tightened their grip around Itachi’s waist. Itachi activated his Sharingan—

—and it didn’t hurt. In fact, nothing hurt.

“What’s wrong?” asked the person holding him.

 _A man_ , Itachi registered, as he tried to keep his breathing even.

“Itachi?”

He could _breathe_. 

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so scared.

The man began to turn him around to look him in the face, and though Itachi tried his best to cooperate and keep his expression blank, something prompted the man to let go and get out of the futon, showing the palms of his hands in surrender. At least judging by size alone (he was bigger than Kisame), the man was dangerous. Being stark naked might have given the illusion of vulnerability, but he seemed unconcerned about it. That, and he was covered with toned muscle from head to feet. 

He rolled his massive shoulders, drawing Itachi’s gaze to the ANBU tattoo on the right one. Some experimental interrogation technique by Intelligence? The Godaime had no idea Itachi was still loyal to Konoha, then. Good. That might help Sasuke in the long run. 

“Itachi, if you’re having a panic attack, please just let me know so I can leave, alright? Itachi?”

“I’m fine.” Whoever had him captive had put him under some kind of genjutsu (though who the hell could do that?), and Itachi needed them to think that it’d worked.

“Itachi, where do you think you are?”

Dimly, he remembered that Konoha-nin were trained to repeat a comrade’s name if they thought a breakdown was imminent.

“Itachi? Where do you think you are?” the man repeated.

“Your room,” said Itachi, after a quick scan around. There were clothes, too large to be ‘his’ scattered all over the floor. 

He would never be so messy.

The man stared at him, obviously not convinced, then his eyes flitted around. “Shit.”

Itachi braced himself, but the man turned around and opened a drawer.

“The one fucking time you decide to oversleep,” said the man, pulling out a pair of cargo-looking pants. “I should’ve been at the hospital fifteen minutes ago, and you should’ve been bugging me about it an hour ago, but nooo. Today’s the day you’re gonna have a weird episode because why the hell not?”

Itachi stood up, looking around as much as he could without taking his eyes off the man. They were in a pretty generic apartment from Konoha, in the middle of summer if the scorching heat was anything to go by. 

The guy looked at him, frowning. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong?”

In all the confusion, Itachi hadn’t noticed that he was also naked. Annoying, but at least it was another clue about the genjutsu. The large man was meant to be his lover. 

“Nothing.”

The guy looked unconvinced. His shoulders sagged, then he pulled a shirt that matched the pants over his head. Navy blue scrubs, like the ones Konoha medics stationed at the main hospital wore.

“I have to get to the ER,” said the man, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I just come over there and take your vitals? For my own peace of mind?”

A ninja doing a subpar job of keeping themselves hidden appeared by the window, sparing Itachi from having to answer that.

“The hospital needs all surgeons on-hand,” said the newcomer, barely sparing Itachi a glance.

“Of course it does,” said the man, shaking his head as he turned to Itachi. “Just—” He waved a hand. “Fuck it; you’re gonna do whatever you want. Bring me some food tonight, alright? I don’t feel like cooking.”

“All right,” said Itachi, hoping it would get rid of him.

The man gazed at him, a small crease between his dark eyebrows. Itachi got the feeling that he was supposed to have said something in response to that, and “all right” wasn’t it.

“Sure,” said the man.

They left as quickly as any competent ninja would. Probably too good to be true, but Itachi wasn’t going to get anywhere paralyzed and naked. He put his hands together and tried a simple releasing jutsu, not really expecting it to work. He still allowed himself a low, frustrated sigh at the failure.

On a hunch, he went to the dresser and started opening drawers at random, searching for clothes his size. Whatever joke of an illusion he was in had, for some incomprehensible reason, given him a male lover larger than Kisame, and didn’t people keep clothes at their lover’s homes?

Yes, apparently. He found a pair of standard jounin slacks that probably wouldn’t fit the medic’s arm and a simple red t-shirt. 

While pulling the shirt over his head, he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror and almost spiraled into another bout of internal hysterics.

He didn’t look like himself.

Oh, it was a close enough facsimile to fool civilians, but the guy in the mirror wasn’t Uchiha Itachi, currently dying of some stupid mysterious illness that back-alley doctors couldn’t diagnose. The guy in the mirror’s cheekbones didn’t jut out like he hadn’t been able to keep down a significant meal in weeks. His hair was longer than Itachi’s, and shinier and thicker, like the bastard could afford to wash it and brush on a regular basis. He was pale because all Uchiha were, but his skin didn’t look sallow and the whites of his eyes weren’t bloodshot. There weren’t even bags under his eyes.

As far as mockeries went, there was no reason why being taunted with a healthy image of himself should burn more than being trapped in a genjutsu did, but somehow it did, and Itachi let himself seethe about it for a few seconds before putting on the shirt and setting out to search the premises. His initial assessment had been more or less correct; it was just a standard apartment in Konoha, one of the many rented out by shinobi on active duty. 

Professionally speaking, Itachi admitted that he was impressed. The kitchen had pricey kitchenware from one of Konoha’s smaller manufacturers, the ACE bandages he wrapped around his calves, just to keep up appearances, were exactly like the ones sown by the Yamanaka. Most concerningly, the trees smelled just right, “his” sandals conformed to the soles of his feet as if he’d been wearing them for months, the hair that was too long to be his was slightly heavier than he was used to, the toothpaste was the same peach flavor he had preferred back in Konoha. . .

Most genjutsu specialists never bothered with such details. Even he didn’t trouble himself with them most of the time, and before passing out in the inn, he’d have called himself the best genjutsu master in the world.

But he wasn’t sure he could pull off the genjutsu he was under without deploying Izanami. 

He walked around the small apartment after glaring at his reflection on the bathroom mirror, fighting wave after wave of familiarity as he examined dozens of little things that he recognized as “his” though he’d never purchased or made them. A glass jar for candies too pretty to be eaten. A set of sketchbooks and fine-point gel pens. Traps at the front door and by the windows that were close to what he usually deployed, but a touch more sophisticated, both due to experience and better equipment. All of Jiraiya’s ridiculous pornographic novels, which had to be some kind of joke, neatly filed between anatomy and medicine textbooks on a bookshelf out in the living room. 

A genjutsu that gave him a medic for a lover, and a healthy body on top of it. A little redundant, but considering how perfect the rest of the scenario, that just showed how desperate and lonely he’d been. It’d lasted long enough. 

Itachi inhaled as much as he could, then forced himself to suck in a little more, savoring the way his chest expanded and his lungs inflated with precious air. If it was real, he’d probably be high on all the oxygen. 

He went out to the balcony, forced himself to ignore the collapsed buildings to the north (though why would his perfect fantasy give him a Konoha recovering from war? Why?), and sat cross-legged. No genjutsu, no matter how sophisticated, could fool his crows. 

Summoning the crows in a too-flashy fashion would alert his captors, so meditation would have to do. The crows knew his habits better than he did so if he stood still long enough, in a position that he usually could not stand due to his aching back, the crows would notice. They would appear in whatever hole he was in and buy him the chance to kill his captors and escape. He just needed to be ready for the pain that would return to his consciousness, for the sludge that would fill his lungs. 

The first crow came to him in a matter of minutes, giving him hope that his reserves weren’t as depleted as usual. Itachi breathed, bracing himself for the pain that was coming, and opened his eyes.

Everything looked as bright and clear as it had before the crow’s arrival. His body remained stubbornly pain-free. Most distressing of all, the crow did not fly closer to him. It cawed for companions that land on tree branches away from Itachi, as if waiting for another master. Itachi almost expected to have to fight off their illusions, but the crows merely waited, silent and still. No one woke him to torture him more conventionally.

The window in the apartment above opened and a plump middle-aged woman stepped out onto a balcony. “Hey!” she yelled down, as Itachi braced himself for another attack that never came. “Mr. Shinobi. Make your pets go away; they’ll shit all over the place and make a mess of all the garbage.”

Itachi was going to hyperventilate, and he doubted his lungs could take it. He had no idea how to escape a genjutsu like this. 

“Mr. Shinobi!” yelled the woman. “Where’s the reasonable one? Where’s Eiji?”

“The hospital.” Itachi had enough wits left to try and figure out one thing.

“Aw, shit,” said the woman. “When he gets back, tell him I need him to tell you to keep your damned birds outta this area.” 

“All right.”

Since the crows can’t (or won’t) puncture the illusion Itachi was under, he had no choice but to play along. He’d never in his life had to break a genjutsu before, but he remembered the lessons from his days in Konoha’s army: if you were ever trapped in an elaborate genjutsu, play along until whoever had got you pushed too far. Moronic advice. No one had ever managed to break one of Itachi’s genjutsu by “playing” along, but what else could he do? Besides panic and land himself in a fight that he couldn’t win in a weakened state?

The clothes he found suggested that he was supposed to be an active shinobi for Konoha, so he assumed that if he waited around long enough, a CO would materialize and give him some sort of assignment. He waited on the balcony for them, watching the crows come and go, occasionally shrugging at the neighbor who wanted him to send them off. The crows would not listen to him, and he wasn’t about to explain that to her.

It was at least an hour before he got tired of waiting around and returned to the apartment. First of all, he needed more information on “Eiji”, who he assumed was running the little interrogation based on his apparent ingratiation into Itachi’s fantasy life. “Eiji” was too damned common a name, especially since Itachi couldn’t very well go around asking about the bastard since they were supposed to be lovers, so he methodically started going through every drawer in the house. Not that he would find anything particularly incriminating in a random drawer, but he needed all the clues he could get.

There were shuriken and gauzes cluttering the place, rolls of unfinished thread that he guessed might be for suturing (doesn’t Eiji know chakra scalpels?), sweets, and multicolored pens. He found three different uncashed S-rank mission-completion slips, all designated for “Itachi”. Well, Itachi had daydreamed about being an anonymous orphan before. His reg number was correct, and for a moment, he was surprised that he even remembered it. What a stickler for details this genjutsu master is. Maybe Ibiki had taught himself genjutsu, or just stolen some Sharingan.

The bedroom drawers had a picture album full of people Itachi didn’t recognize, except for Eiji. He had many photos with women dressed in scrubs, possibly med-chuunin, and a few pictures with Itachi. The Itachi with glossy hair and healthy skin, mostly staring blankly at the camera while Eiji smiled or made funny faces. He had his arm around Itachi in most of them, and even though it was fake, Itachi still itched to shove him away. One of the pictures had Itachi asleep, practically draped on Eiji’s chest, and Eiji idly playing with a few locks of Itachi’s dark hair. That alone should shatter the illusion because Itachi had a reputation as a psychotic killing machine to maintain, and psychotic killing machines didn’t casually fall asleep on their lovers. 

It would have been the worst picture of the bunch, but the next one was of Itachi and Sasuke. 

It wasn’t anything particularly egregious, just Itachi and an older Sasuke with a Go board between them, not even sitting particularly close. A common pastime, and a game that Itachi had always enjoyed and young Sasuke had often begged to play with him. 

Itachi put the album back, ready to face the rest of the illusory village. The sooner he broke the mocking illusion, the better.


	2. Chapter 2

The deeper Itachi went into the village, the less he recognized it. Old roads were closed off by gravel, new stands littered the streets, and ANBU walked around in full uniform, without their masks. Some of them wandered about in half-uniform, rolling their shoulders and yawning, as if they were no different than regular chuunin and jounin coming off a tough shift. Itachi sat by a tea stand near the main chuunin headquarters and observed, making no move to conceal his presence. No one paid him any mind, though a few ninja he didn’t recognize noted his presence. A few went as far as waving at him absentmindedly, and Itachi waved back, even though he no longer cared if his captors realized that he wasn’t falling for the genjutsu. 

The ANBU walked around like cops, which taken into consideration with his own lack of a family name, probably meant that his dream had erased all Uchiha from existence. He thought back to that picture of him and Sasuke, but the back of his shirt had not been visible. Well, his captors would try to manipulate him with a mirage of Sasuke soon enough, and he’d know then if Uchihas existed at all in this genjutsu. 

Hours went by without anyone besides the stand-owner bothering him. Itachi gave the man a generous tip from the wad of cash he’d found at Eiji’s apartment and stood up, uncertain of what his next move should be. Physically, he still felt better than he had in years, so whoever had him trapped showed no signs of weakening. Maybe. For all he knew, mere seconds or less had passed in reality. 

A woman in mesh and skin-tight polyester the same tone as her skin interrupted his musings. “Dipshit, this isn't the time for one of your shitty power-plays,” she said, frowning as she slapped his shoulder roughly, but with no real threat.

Itachi’s breath still cut off for an instant, which was all the woman needed to realize that something was wrong.

“Itachi.”

Damn it. Itachi stayed still as a rock, face blank, but it wouldn’t do any good. The woman stared at him with narrowed eyes, her body as carefully lax as his. He braced himself for what would come, certain that his captor would go for pain, but all that changed was that the vendor huffed and shooed them away, muttering about accursed ninja driving away business.

“You know we can’t have you sauntering all over the village if you’re so jumpy,” hissed the woman as they walked away. “Hokage-sama will order Eiji around you twenty-four-seven, if that’s what it’ll take to keep you calm.”

“That’s not going to work,” said Itachi, tired of the charade. 

The rest of the “villagers” stayed away from them; finally, a glimmer of unreality to the genjutsu. Shinobi were incapable of resisting an opportunity to at least try and hoard information, but they went about their business, as if seeing Itachi having a hushed argument with the woman in skin-tight mesh was as notable as the falling leaves.

“That’s not what we need right now,” said the woman, running her hands through her light-brown hair. “Seriously, one crazy super-Uchiha loose at the same time is about all we can handle.”

“So I am supposed to be an Uchiha, then.” Itachi looked to the side, talking mostly to himself. No matter how pointless it was, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to make sense of the illusory world.

“Don’t,” said the woman, raising a hand. 

Itachi followed the movement, though all she did was show her palm in a lazy “stop” gesture. 

“You’re hypervigilant,” said Anko.

“Is that really so strange?” 

“It’s strange that you aren’t hiding it,” she said.

A pair of ANBU black ops - one hiding in a tree four yards to his left and another pretending to read a manga on a bench five yards behind the woman - revealed themselves. Or maybe the genjutsu faltered and Itachi noticed them? Maybe the genjutsu felt so real because Itachi was actually out and about somewhere? He would have thought it impossible to fall for such an intricate trick before.

“You’re scared,” said the woman. Something under the sleeves of her trenchcoat wriggled. “But you aren’t running. Our profile said you’d run if you were scared.”

Itachi stared at her.

“Unless you thought you couldn’t run.”

“Maybe _you_ should run,” said Itachi. 

She was good, he wouldn’t deny it, but she stood as stuck-still as he did, just like prey when it was smart enough to realize there was a problem that it wouldn’t be able to fight or run away from. She’d called the black ops in a reflex, and was probably regretting it.

“Hey! Sensei!” 

Itachi didn’t register the voice at first, assuming that it was some genin or chuunin yelling for their jounin, but then heavy footsteps approached them. The woman didn’t so much as twitch, though Itachi tensed when someone came at him from behind. Not even a hint of hostility invaded the air, but he still glared when someone slapped his shoulder lightly.

“You’re looking more stiff than usual, sir. Hi, Anko.” The newcomer left his hand on Itachi’s shoulder and beamed at him.

“Naruto.” 

His blue eyes widened a little, then he somehow smiled wider. “Yeah?” 

Itachi glanced at the hand on his shoulder, which made “Naruto” take it back with a brief eyeroll. 

“What’s going on?” he asked. “You guys are scaring the shit out of everyone here.”

Naruto, at least the young genin that Itachi remembered, had not been so observant. He also would never have called Itachi sensei (seriously, at some point a genjutsu got too random to be believable, no matter how well-constructed), so that was a moot point. Visually, the facsimile was excellent, from the faint whisker marks on the guy’s cheeks to the garish orange jacket over black mesh. He looked older though, prompting Itachi to consider that “his” body might not just be healthier, but older as well.

What was he thinking? His body was that of a frail twenty-year-old dying of a lung disease.

“Well, you know me,” said the woman airily. Anko. “Always looking for a bit of excitement.”

“With ANBU black ops?” asked Naruto. 

“What’s a show without good props?” she shrugged, putting on a shroud of flighty carelessness. 

“Uh huh,” said Naruto, turning back to Itachi. “Sensei, I need to talk to you.”

“All right,” said Itachi, without taking his eyes off Anko. Though “Naruto” was probably as much of a threat, if not more, when it came down to it. 

Anko’s eyes narrowed, then she offered a bright smile that even Itachi couldn't discern as fake. “Well, as long as you aren't getting violent, it’s no skin off our nose.” She waved a hand and the ANBU black ops vanished, or at least retreated into the shadows once more. 

Itachi could probably find them if he tried hard enough. 

“Ibiki still needs to talk to you,” said Anko, more serious. “And you probably just earned yourself a psych review no matter what I say.”

And what exactly would she say? If Itachi didn't know any better, he’d consider that this strange woman might be tempted to intervene on his behalf.

Naruto babbled about some mission of his that had turned out to be more inane than dangerous as he led the way towards a busy ramen stand near the Academy. The village buzzed on, unconcerned that Itachi walked side-by-side with its jinchuriki. Time passed as monotonously as it did in the real world, though lacking in the sharp sensations and vivid tortures of a well-crafted genjutsu. They had to wait in line at the ramen stand, and if Itachi paid attention to any particular conversation, he got snippets of excitement about a popular soap opera, or complaints about decreasing tips at a restaurant, or generic whining about an old back injury, or. . . Just filler conversation - all boring, repetitive, and aggressively human. With every passing moment, Itachi’s admiration for the illusionist that had him trapped intensified. 

“So, anyway,” said Naruto, twirling ramen noodles around his chopsticks. “You sure you're not hungry?”

He was, but Anko would be reporting to someone about Itachi’s paranoia. Of course she would. Itachi wished his captors would do whatever they were planning to do already. 

“I’ll eat later,” said Itachi, mostly curious to see how his ‘hunger’ would progress. He didn’t remember the last time his appetite had even resembled that of a normal person. A part of him savored the impatient clench of his belly at the scent of spices and meats around the ramen stand.

“I wanted to ask about your boyfriend.”

Shit. Itachi knew next to nothing about the bastard, and he couldn’t even begin to guess if that was a genjutsu failure or just something his captors hadn’t bothered with. Or if they were trying to get him to trust Eiji. 

“How did you know you liked liked him?” asked Naruto, blue eyes comically wide.

“He’s very attractive,” said Itachi, because that was one of the things he knew about his supposed boyfriend. 

The ramen stand owner snorted. Itachi should’ve insisted on a private venue for their conversation, though it didn’t matter. Eiji would get word that Itachi found him attractive, which also didn’t matter because who wouldn’t? The man had likely been chosen at least partly for his looks, assuming he actually looked the way Itachi perceived him. He had to keep reminding himself that nothing around him was real, so taking routine precautions about privacy was pointless. All his focus should be spent keeping his mind as clear as possible.

“Yeah, but is that enough?” asked Naruto, staring down at his ramen. “I guess Eiji’s really hot, but you guys have been together forever, and he’s a complete dick.”

“Forever,” said Itachi, starting to walk away after glancing briefly at the crowd waiting for ramen. Even if they weren't real, their noise was a distraction.

“At least a decade,” said Naruto, following along. “You’ve always been with him, I think. Since I was a genin. . .”

Itachi filed away the tidbit about the length of his supposed relationship, addicted to information as he was. Even if it was useless and obviously false. “Why are you asking me about him?” To soften him up before hitting him with more personal questions? Was it a trick to strengthen the illusion?

“Well, you know,” said Naruto, shrugging.

“I don’t.”

“Hah,” said Naruto, mouth twisting into a sour line. “Maybe I should just ask Eiji.”

“Maybe,” agreed Itachi.

Was that supposed to be some kind of threat? If so, his captors didn't know him at all. A confrontation didn't scare him, not as much as wasting time in a fractured fantasy did. 

“Y’know, I think he’d be worse. . .”

Naruto’s mouth kept moving, but Itachi couldn't hear him. It was as if someone had stuffed extra-strength earplugs in his ears. All his others senses worked great, and his breath remained unnaturally smooth. Genjutsu failure.

He wished he could take credit for it, but it’d happened too suddenly. The genjutsu master must have been interrupted. Probably by Kisame because who else was there? 

Itachi tried to keep his face neutral, but he probably failed. Naruto’s eyes widened and he abruptly stopped whatever speech he’s been bumbling through. He leaned forward, extending a hand. Itachi meant to grab his arm and swiftly break as many bones as possible, in as many places as possible. His strength seeped out of him though, and all he could manage was to grasp Naruto’s forearm. The fine blond hairs on Naruto’s forearm tickled the palms of his hands, but his muscles would not obey him. His chakra, little of it that there was, felt miles and miles away, locked as tight as a bijuu’s. 

The corners of his eyes grew dark. He could not stop himself from frowning. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Naruto’s eyebrows creased with worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to [luvsanime02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02) for beta-reading as usual.
> 
> Sidenote, it's getting super difficult for me to answer all comments because I am busy as hell and I'm getting quite a bit of them, even for my self-indulgent OC stuff that I thought no one would ever care about. But as a I said in my tumblr, I read all the comments and they all bring a smile to my face. So consider this a blanket "thank you for reading" as I slowly try to get through my comment backlog.

Itachi had not recognized him. Some might say he was being dramatic, but Eiji considered himself an expert on Itachi’s microexpressions (the Sage help him). He knew that as Itachi’s face grew blank, the rest of him lit up like a tree. For example, whenever Itachi got scared, his left index finger flexed minutely. That’s the hand he used to make whatever seal he needed for a quick, distracting and subtly ‘fuck you’ genjutsu.

He’d done that this morning, when Eiji had been a second away from starting a morning quickie. Which meant he’d been scared of Eiji, which almost made Eiji shit his pants. Itachi’s habit was to swiftly annihilate anyone who scared him.

But maybe Eiji was just stressed out. Itachi _hadn't_ done anything, after. Sure, he’d been a little passive-aggressive, pretending he actually gave a shit about the thing with Sasuke, but passive-aggressive was Itachi’s de-facto family name now. He certainly hadn't been violent, so whatever his beef was, it couldn't be serious.

 _Except,_ thought Eiji, _he called it ‘your' room._

Probably more snitty passive-aggression, or so Eiji decided, and went straight to work. He had an emergency waiting for him, after all. Itachi pretty much melted from his mind.

Until later that day, when Anko pulled him out of the OR. Eiji gave instructions to a wide-eyed trainee who looked a second away from bursting into anxious tears, then swore as he left the sterile field. Chances that his patient would survive were fifty-fifty; less than that now. He tried to work up some rage about that, to wallow in seething resentment, but he knew the only reason why Anko (or anyone) would pull him out of the OR.

Itachi.

“Somebody better be fucking dying,” he said as he entered the hallway, scowling at Anko.

She wasn't smirking. That made Eiji even more nervous.

“You have to come to The Underground,” she said.

“If you made me leave a patient with a half-trained surgeon because you need to heal one of your torture victims--”

“--It’s about Itachi,” she interrupted.

Eiji deflated. “Okay.” Having his suspicions confirmed evened him out. He could stop worrying about the problem and start fixing it. “Let’s go.”

‘The Underground’ was short for ‘The Underground Interrogation Unit’, one of Orochimaru’s old secret laboratories. Eiji had learned how to reattach freshly ripped-off skin there. And not so freshly ripped-off skin. How to heal torture wounds, basically. He told himself that wasn't what was happening with Itachi, but a person could do immense creative damage in just half a day.

“What happened?” he asked, once Anko closed the trapdoor to The Underground behind them.

“He didn't show up for a mission summons this morning,” said Anko. “When I tracked him down to give him shit, I noticed he was hypervigilant and defiant.”

“He’s always like that,” said Eiji, nose twitching. Orochimaru’s labs stank of an unique combination of ammonia and curdled milk, even if the fucker hadn't been around in years.

“Be smarter if you’re gonna cover for your little housewife,” said Anko. “He wasn't just his usual bitchy self; he was fucking confused.”

Eiji opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say to that. If Itachi was ever confused, he didn't show it.

“Still not violent, though,” Anko continued.

“Obviously.” Not because Itachi _wouldn't_ , but because everyone in the village would feel it if he did. Especially the hospital.

“It’d have gotten there,” said Anko, “but Uzumaki Naruto interrupted us and dragged him off. I took the chance to report to Ibiki, since the jinchuuriki wouldn't let Itachi explode at Konoha, but I barely got to finish my report to Ibiki before Itachi collapsed.”

Eiji quickened his pace. “Collapse how?”

“According to the ANBU tail I left with him, he just lost consciousness while talking to Naruto,” said Anko, opening a door on the right that Eiji nearly walked right past. “Seems like Naruto noticed him getting dizzy, because he tried to support him or something.”

“Where is he now?”

“Drugged and sealed up like he’s the Kyuubi,” said Anko.

Eiji grunted, and looked around the room to buy himself some time. Just a nondescript, depressing hole without windows, walls painted brown like faded shit, and dim lights. An ANBU guarded a door on the opposite side of the chamber. That had to be where they were keeping Itachi.

They could hardly be blamed for neutralizing Itachi as best they could. Saying that Itachi was dangerous was the understatement of the century, but. . .

“Naruto just let you take him?” The brat had the most amazing ability to reconcile conflicting loyalties. Sure, Itachi could potentially raze Konoha to the ground, but he was also Naruto’s sensei and, though he was probably the worst jounin-sensei in the village, he had Naruto’s loyalty.

“Oh, no, Naruto threw a shitfit,” said Anko. “First, we told him we’d take Itachi to the hospital. He almost got into a fight with the ANBU squad we sent to pick Itachi up, but he settled for making threats before going off to pull strings. Far as I know, he’s still ranting the Rokudaime’s ear off.”

Good. Hatake Kakashi was Itachi’s oldest friend. The man fancied himself Itachi's surrogate father, though Eiji bet he would vomit if someone pointed that out to him. But whether Kakashi would admit it or not, Itachi had the Hokage on his side. Eiji had to remember that.

“Right, so I need to examine Itachi,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re here,” said Anko.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why would you get me to examine Itachi, out of all the medics in the village?” said Eiji. “Isn't my loyalty in question? If it isn't, it should be.”

Eiji loved Itachi so much it was painful sometimes. He would always try to defend him, and the village should know that. They deserved a fighting chance, even if Eiji wasn't the one willing to give it to them.

“Chances are, he won't kill you while you’re taking his pulse.” Anko smirked, a sour expression that looked like it took effort. “Besides, all our medics are refusing to go anywhere near him.”

* * *

 

They went more than a little overboard, in Eiji’s humble opinion, though they’d allowed Itachi the dignity of his black boxer shorts. Eiji would have preferred that they strip him down completely, then cover him up with blankets. Orochimaru’s labs ran as cold as industrial refrigerators.

The ANBU medic who had handled Itachi's “treatment” challenged everything Eiji thought he knew about Hyuugas by being a fucking moron. If Hyuugas couldn't be trusted to be freakishly good at medicine, then what _could_ be trusted? The man suggested that Itachi was suffering from atypical seizures, but couldn't explain how he’d arrived at that conclusion. He wanted to do a fuck-forsaken lumbar puncture, even though Itachi’s vitals would only get more stable if he died. Thank fuck for Ibiki being so paranoid about torture and mind control seals that he’d read enough medical texts to recognize a shitty medic.

Not only had said shitty medic laid Itachi out on a gurney decorated with more chakra dampening seals than a bijuu’s cage, but he’d also wrapped Itachi’s fingers in fine wire so that he wouldn't be able to flex his fingers to make seals. The wires weren't tight enough to draw blood, so Eiji supposed that some shinobi at least were moving past their fabricated indignation at Itachi’s decimation of his family.

Eiji got rid of them anyway. He didn’t want them compromising blood flow to Itachi’s fingers.

“Stop that!” The one medic brave enough to assist Eiji, a young woman with auburn hair and brown eyes that glittered like jewels, didn't have as much mettle as he would have liked.

“He’s blasting through the stratosphere thanks to that morphine-barbiturate cocktail you snowed him under,” said Eiji. “How exactly is he gonna make seals?”

Most shinobi who made it to chuunin knew how to burn morphine out of their system. The average no-name jounin could handle barbiturate. Only the most skilled of medics could deal with both at once.

 _I should have taught him how to do it,_ thought Eiji.

Then he mentally slapped himself. As if Itachi wasn't dangerous enough already.

“But you’re planning to wake him up, aren't you?” insisted the medic.

Well, she had more balls than the moron who had probably already killed Eiji’s patient back in the OR.

“Not yet,” said Eiji, “but even if I did wake him up, he’s buried under all these seals.”

The medic snorted, but she squared her shoulders and nodded at Eiji, as though giving him permission. Under any other circumstances, Eiji would have beamed. He didn't even recognize her, which meant she was a new trainee, yet she questioned him. He had medics on their third year of training who still didn't look him in the eyes.

But he was stalling. He allowed himself one last second to gather his wits, and started examining Itachi. The sleeper agent protocol was time-consuming and tedious. Eiji had done it at least a hundred times during his ANBU training. He didn't miss it, and he certainly never expected that he’d ever have to put Itachi through it. Not because the brass didn't suspect Itachi, but because he’d assumed that they knew he wouldn't sell Itachi out to them.

The most important part was checking every inch of skin for possible seals. Eiji started with Itachi’s scalp. He pulled off the elastic band holding Itachi’s hair in a ponytail, trying not to break any strands (he loved Itachi's hair, sue him), and pored over Itachi’s scalp. Nothing, except for a few flecks of dandruff here and there.

And so he went, spending at least two minutes on every part of Itachi’s skin. Some seals were done with invisible ink (why they all weren't was a mystery to Eiji), so he had to pause and slip his own chakra under Itachi’s skin. He found a few subclinical insect bites, but nothing that might be affecting Itachi’s mind, or making him sick. And he checked everywhere: between Itachi's fingers and toes, his external ear canals, inside his mouth; he’d even done a rectal exam. Nothing.

“I gotta wake him up,” said Eiji, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Either get a blanket for him, or his clothes.”

“A blanket,” said the ANBU medic. “And I'm wiring his hands again.”

Eiji grunted, glancing at the mirror on the opposite side of the room. He’d bet his hands that Ibiki and his most-trusted goons were behind it, watching. If he couldn't keep Itachi calm. . .

Well, if he couldn't keep Itachi calm, he might not walk out of this room. He watched the ANBU medic shackle Itachi’s feet to the gurney, then wrap wire around his fingers. Itachi twitched as she did it. The drugs were running their course, or Itachi was figuring out how to burn them out of his system. Eiji wouldn't put it past him. The ANBU medic pushed on, and threw the warm blanket over Itachi.

Props to her.

Still, she took a step back when Itachi’s eyes snapped open and he surged up into a seated position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm still behind on comments. I would say go and talk to me on tumblr and there will be a higher chance I'll get a chance to respond, but that would be an alternative fact. (For those of you not American, that's something an America politician said when he got caught lying.)

For a second, Itachi thought that he’d woken up back where he belongs: in Kiri, drowning on air and robbing as much comfort as he could from his missing-nin partner. But no. He was sluggish, but not in any pain. Drugs. The ones that felt good acutely, in a high enough dose that he probably didn't get to feel that good.

Fine wire bit into the skin of his fingers when he tried to make a releasing seal. Oh well. It wouldn't have worked, and now the farce of the genjutsu was done with.

Except his lungs still worked. He knew better than to suck in a deep breath to double-check, but he was lying flat on his back with no discomfort. He hadn't been able to do that in months. Also, he was almost naked and covered with a blanket (he was grateful despite himself--the room was cold, the gurney he laid on unforgiving, and the cold played havoc on his weak constitution). For torture purposes, it would have made much more sense to strip him down completely, or just leave him clothed. Maybe that was the point. Allowing him the illusion of comfort. Hadn't this place given him a medic lover?

That was quite enough of that. 

Itachi tried to access his chakra (the genjutsu made him feel like he had so _much_ of it), but he was under a mountain of seals. Frustrating, but his control wasn’t legendary for nothing. He had enough access left to sense two other people in the room with him, though they were both silent. One, he didn’t recognize, nor were they strong enough that it gave him pause. The other person. . . Itachi would call his presence massive, except he’d witnessed the might of the bijuu. But it was impressive for a human. That was probably meant to be the one holding him back.

Itachi couldn't make himself get worried about it. The presence was familiar, as familiar as Kisame’s. Itachi had spent part of almost every day with Kisame since he was thirteen. That fucking genjutsu, again. Whatever professional admiration Itachi felt for it was wearing thin.

He snapped his eyes open. A plain white ceiling with an anemic light bulb. He sat up straight. Something brushed the small of his back, and he twitched before realizing that it was his own damned hair. Shackles pulled on his ankles. He frowned, vaguely insulted at whoever thought mere _chains_ could stop him. The owner of the smaller chakra signature startled, but she held her ground. Itachi ignored her, and fixed his gaze on the man standing in front of her.

Eiji.

Of course. He’d woken up with this bastard wrapped around him. Why _would_ his chakra not feel as familiar and comforting as an old pair of pyjamas? 

“I know you’re scared,” said Eiji. “I knew it this morning. What I can't figure out is why.”

The seals hindered Itachi, but nowhere as much as his lungs had. Did. He activated his Sharingan.

The woman finally took a step back. Itachi allowed himself a tiny smile.

“Leave the room,” said Eiji.

“But--”

“--I appreciate your balls,” interjected Eiji, “but what can you really do here? Just go tell Ibiki to give me a shot at this.”

Ibiki. Finally, they were getting somewhere. The woman flickered away. Eiji took a deep breath. Itachi tried to use his Sharingan for something, but the seals were good enough to prevent that. 

Maybe Eiji noticed, because he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Itachi. Babe.” He closed his eyes. “Please, I know you don't think much of me.”

What? No one had gotten Itachi as good as this man since freaking _Madara_.

“But I need you to trust me,” continued Eiji. “I can't help you otherwise.”

“Cut this bullshit,” said Itachi. 

Eiji’s eyes widened. 

Yes, Itachi normally didn't curse, but these were extenuating circumstances. “Impressive as your genjutsu is, it didn't work. I don't _know_ you.”

“Genjutsu?” Eiji walked forward, frowning. “Turn those off.” He gestured vaguely, possibly at Itachi's eyes. “I know you can't use them with these seals.”

Well, he wasn't wrong. And what little chakra Itachi had access to could be put to better use elsewhere. He let the Sharingan go. Eiji took the last few steps forward and put his arms on either side of Itachi, crowding him on the gurney. With him standing so close, Itachi could see thin flecks of black threading through his grey irises. Definitely not a Hyuuga, then. His expression was painfully and earnestly concerned, and it’d been so long since anyone had been concerned for Itachi. A part of him wanted to fall into his arms, take refuge from the cold in his muscles. 

Itachi forced himself to keep his back straight. Eiji was big; his shoulders were twice as wide as Itachi’s, and his biceps about the size of Itachi’s head. Without proper access to his chakra, Itachi didn’t stand a chance.

No. He did. Size had nothing on the element of surprise. 

“I don't know what’s wrong with me,” said Itachi. This hulk of a genjutsu master didn't want to give up his charade yet. Itachi could win his trust. He could if he just feigned some vulnerability.

“Whatever it is, physically, you’re fine,” said Eiji. “I checked you while you were out.”

“That’s the thing,” said Itachi. He resisted the urge to lean back when Eiji got even closer. “I’m not supposed to be fine, physically. My lungs. . .”

Itachi waited, focusing on his breath. Would the genjutsu readjust itself to make his breathing more labored.

“What about your lungs?” Eiji’s eyebrows furrowed. 

Itachi sucked in a deep breath. His belly expanded as his chest opened up. It would be painful to give that up. “I know I can't do that,” he said, before exhaling.

“You had a cold last week,” said Eiji. “But that resolved on its own in two days.”

Itachi inhaled deeply. No change. “I went to Rain a week ago,” said Itachi. “Waste of time, if you ask Kisame. . . and me too, but Pain wanted to posture. The moss did a number on me.”

“You haven't left Konoha in weeks,” said Eiji. “Far as I can tell, you’ve been doing yoga and baking really shitty cakes.” He hesitated, then smiled softly. “It’s actually kinda endearing to see you suck at something besides teaching.”

“I haven't been to Konoha in years,” said Itachi, after a moment of hesitation. That was basic information. It only sounded revelatory because it gave Eiji another clue as to the extent that his genjutsu had worked.

“There’s no genjutsu,” said Eiji, as though he’d read Itachi’s mind. He touched his forehead to Itachi’s. “He’s gonna want a Yamanaka to enter your mind.”

Ibiki again. “I would advise against that.” 

“Yeah, chances are it’s gonna take a while to find a Yamanaka willing to try it,” said Eiji. “In the meantime, why don't you just cooperate? It’ll be less painful for you.”

“Cooperate with what?” 

“Shit, not much.” Eiji chuckled, then wrapped a few locks of Itachi’s hair around his fingers. “Just stay home and read shitty books. Ignore your former students. Play _Go_ with Hokage-sama. Or Sasuke. You lazy little fuck.”

“Sounds relaxing,” said Itachi. He refused to let this bastard know how important Sasuke was to him.

“I know.” Eiji kneeled in front of the gurney, which put him at eye level with Itachi’s chest. “You could turn whatever this is into a vacation.”

From this angle, it would be so simple to reach the back of Eiji’s neck. Itachi’s fingers twitched so hard that wire bit into his skin. “And I won't have to take missions in the meantime?”

“Babe, you barely take missions as-is. 

“The seals and wires?” asked Itachi.

“Obviously, the seals stay,” said Eiji. He grabbed Itachi’s hand and rubbed his palms. “But I can talk Ibiki out of the wires. Hokage-sama would back me up.”

They wouldn't leave him alone. “Are you volunteering to babysit me?”

“I got shit to do at the hospital,” said Eiji. “But fuck it, I’ll split shifts with your students or something. They’re always defending you, even Duck’s Ass.”

Who? “And I won't have to. . . have sex with you?” 

“What?” Eiji rolled his eyes. “You think if this was an op, we’d waste time and energy raping you?”

“Most people would argue that my ejaculate is the most valuable thing about me.”

“What the hell would I do with your sperm? I can't get pregnant.”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“This is a stupid situation.” Eiji had the nerve to cross his arms over Itachi’s lap.

“Why are you trying to pass yourself off as my lover?” Any genjutsu master, no matter how attractive (assuming Eiji actually looked the way Itachi perceived him), should have anticipated that would be the hardest part of the con to sell.

Eiji chuckled. Bitterly. “Y’know, I get the ‘really, _him_ ’ snide shit a lot. A _lot_. But this is the first time it’s coming directly from you.” 

“It’s a fair question.”

“I don't know what to tell you,” Eiji shrugged. “You came on to me. I’ve tried to dump you plenty of times, but you keep coming back, and like an asshole, I keep _taking_ you back. We could ask the mental health unit what’s up, after we sort out what’s going on _here._ ” He tapped Itachi’s temple.

“So. . . I won't have to have sex with you?” For all he knew, ‘Eiji' was a woman, or planning to use a woman. He would be damned if he brought a child into this accursed world.

“No,” said Eiji, rolling his eyes. “Your virtue and jizz are safe from me. Until you get horny.”

“I’m not.”

Eiji laughed. “Right.”

Well, if he thought Itachi was such a fool, that could work in Itachi’s favor. 

“Alright, then. I will cooperate.” For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Also, I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!
> 
> Uh. . . it was gonna be five chapters originally.

That was probably the most terrifying thing Eiji had ever endured, and he’d. . . Well, now wasn't the time to reminisce. Not when he was outside Ibiki’s doom bunker of an office, gearing himself up for a fight and feeling more nervous than he had since he’d first started working on Hyuuga Jian’s medical team. 

But things were different now. He was a jounin, a _med_ -jounin, the trauma surgeon who ran Konoha’s emergency room. Kakashi, the Rokudaime, took him seriously (mostly). He was one of the few people Itachi gave a shit about. 

No, he was one of the few people Itachi _loved_. That painted a bright neon target on his back, but it also made him universally valuable. He was _somebody_. He just had to remember that, and speak to Ibiki like they were equals. 

He squared his shoulders, then relaxed them and sauntered into Ibiki’s office. Ibiki was sitting behind his desk, gaze fixed on some report. He raised a hand when Eiji opened his mouth, and Eiji briefly faltered. Why would Ibiki be paper-working while Konoha’s best jounin presumably lost his mind?

He wouldn't. It was a fucking powerplay. “Cut the bullshit posturing,” said Eiji, because that was how antagonistic jounin would talk to one another.

“When I’m being antagonistic, you’ll know,” said Ibiki. But he looked up from his scroll, eyes narrow, scarred face stark.

“I got him to cooperate,” said Eiji. Pleading was the wrong angle. He had to come in confident. “You’re welcome.”

“I sent you in there to examine him,” said Ibiki. “Not to promise shit we can't deliver.” 

“You’re not gonna get better than what I got. Just--”

“I don't tell you how to do your job,” interrupted Ibiki. “Don't tell me how to do mine. And give me a medical report on what the fuck is wrong with him.” 

All right. That was fair. Negotiating was about give and take. “Like I told him, medically, he’s the same as he was yesterday.” Which might not be a good thing, since it meant there was no obvious explanation for his confusion.

“Has he been sleeping?” asked Ibiki, sensing Eiji’s hesitation.

“Like a baby.” And Eiji would know. Itachi was a cuddler.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Eiji forced himself not to swallow. “I know you have a kink for control, but you gotta admit I got you a good deal.”

“You got me a shit sandwich. Are you so stupid that you’d think I’d just let Itachi waltz out of here while psychotic?”

“I know you don't like him,” said Eiji. Diplomacy could go fuck itself. “But you gotta look at the facts beyond the initial knee-jerk terror at having the strongest ninja in the village lose it.”

“He’s not the strongest.”

Whatever. “He seems psychotic--in the medical sense, not the violent sense--but he hasn't hurt anyone. He hasn't even tried. This probably started this morning, and I was cuddled up against his back, naked, and he didn't attack me. He didn't run. He didn't get into a fight with Anko, and he’s gotten into fights with her before while perfectly sane. He’s not a threat.”

Ibiki’s eyes narrowed. 

Misstep. Obviously, Itachi was a threat. “I can figure this out.” No, probably not. There was no surgery to restore someone’s sanity. But maybe if they gave Itachi time, whatever this was would vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. “You gotta admit,” no choice but to go back to his original (shitty) point, “I got you a better deal than you had any right to hope for.”

Ibiki narrowed his eyes before standing up. He wasn't as tall as Eiji (Eiji had never met someone taller than him), but Ibiki still made him feel like an infant. He focused on not dropping his gaze as Ibiki walked around the desk.

“Do you expect me to believe,” said Ibiki, his scars pulling at his skin as his face worked to scowl, “that Uchiha Itachi has agreed to have his chakra sealed?”

“That’s not his name anymore,” protested Eiji, because of _course_ he didn't believe that. Of-fucking-course. Itachi was probably just buying himself time. The only thing saving them was that he seemed convinced that Eiji was a formidable genjutsu master capable of ensnaring a Sharingan user. 

“That will always be his name,” said Ibiki. “He has the eyes and the power, and most importantly, the ruthlessness. The Sage help us if he turns them on us.”

“Alright, fine,” said Eiji. “He’s an Uchiha. So let’s get Sasuke in there. If there’s anyone who can subdue Itachi without violence, it’s him.”

“There’s no guarantee that Sasuke won't make things worse--No, don't argue,” said Ibiki, when Eiji opened his mouth. “Just tell me, word for word, what he said to you.”

“I didn't memorize it word for word!”

“I’ve read your medical notes,” said Ibiki. “Don't pretend that you don't have an instinct for details.”

“That’s different, and I’d explain how, but we don't have all day.”

“I certainly don't,” said a voice from behind Eiji.

Eiji couldn't suppress a slight jump. Ibiki didn't even twitch, so either he’d sensed the Rokudaime’s arrival, or he had a better game face than Eiji. 

Either way, Kakashi’s arrival was great news. The man considered himself Itachi’s friend. With a brief smile, Eiji turned around. Then he beamed. It wasn't just Kakashi, but none other than Sasuke. Eiji was the worst jounin ever. Two people enter a room where he’s having an argument, and he doesn't notice either of them.

“I do need to know what he said, as precisely as possible,” said the Rokudaime. “If you don't know it word for word, just do the best you can.”

Eiji recapped his short conversation with Itachi, gaze flickering towards Sasuke. 

With every passing year, Sasuke looked more like his brother. More importantly, he also got along better with his brother. Lately, they’d even been “training” together. Yes, Eiji had patched Sasuke up quite a few times after a “training session”, on Itachi’s request, but the fact remained that the Uchiha brothers were spending more time together. What little guilt Itachi felt over the incident with his family shrank with every second Sasuke spent in his company not looking constipated. That was the main reason Itachi had been doing so well lately, and why Eiji still had hope. If anyone could claw their way out of madness for any reason, it would be Itachi, and for Sasuke.

“Do you think he meant Hoshigaki Kisame?” asked Sasuke, after Eiji had finished his story.

“Unlikely,” said Ibiki. “Nothing in our files suggests that Itachi has any connection to him, or anyone in Kiri, for that matter.”

“Do we know of anyone calling themselves ‘Pain'?” asked the Rokudaime.

“No.” Ibiki scowled. “That bit was probably bullshit. Prisoners muddle the waters sometimes.”

“Were you _watching_ my conversation with him?” demanded Eiji, ignoring the prisoner bit. For the moment. “Then why the fuck were you asking for a recap?”

“Because I want to see how compromised you are,” said Ibiki. “You can't even report on his medical condition without jumping to his defense.”

Eiji swallowed. That was because he didn't understand what the fuck Itachi’s medical condition was in the first place. If Itachi had some weird cancer, a few broken bones, or anything strange on his body at all, Eiji would have inundated Ibiki with technical information. But he didn't. He _didn’t_ , and somehow, that wasn't comforting.

“He didn't attack me.” Yeah. Eiji had to work on his negotiation skills.

“He wouldn't attack you,” said Sasuke. “You are his most important person.”

What the fuck? “No. . . I’m really not.”

“Nevertheless,” said the Rokudaime, “he has a point. If anyone can subdue Itachi, truly subdue him, it’s Sasuke.”

“Hokage-sama,” started Ibiki.

“Sealing his chakra is the best course of action.” The Rokudaime went on as if he hadn't heard Ibiki. “We’ll have a better shot of convincing a Yamanaka to assist us then.”

“I can try using my Sharingan first,” said Sasuke. “But if no medic can find a genjutsu or seal, then I doubt I’ll have better luck.”

“He’s too dangerous,” said Ibiki. “If you all didn't love him, you’d see that neutralizing him is the smartest, best option.”

Eiji bristled. He opened his mouth, but Sasuke spoke first.

“Don't insult me with euphemisms. I won't let you kill my brother while he’s defenseless. Not after he’s given everything for this village.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back!!! What happened was I disappeared into my work again, got cats, and had to move. But now I should theoretically have more time to write and I got a bunch of nonsense in Google docs. I would say I'm answering comments regularly, but I think we all know better by now.
> 
> As usual, thanks to luvsanime02 for beta-reading.

With some privacy, Itachi could break the seals. He was no Sealing master, but he didn't need to be. Worst came to worst, he’d burn a good chunk of them off. He’d considered breaking out of the room - the wires around his fingers he could have bitten off, but they’d handcuffed his wrists to the cold gurney. He could have broken his wrists (one of them would have been enough), but his ankles had also been strapped down in chains, and while he could have dislocated or even broken the joints, if it came to that, he probably would have been caught again the moment he was through the door. 

So he laid back and breathed, evenly and calmly, like his mother had taught him a lifetime ago. He counted the seconds unevenly--one, two, three, hold for five, exhale on a count of four; changed it up on the next breath. It was practically the opposite of meditating, but it let him know that Eiji (or whoever the hell the genjutsu master was) didn’t have him ensnared so deeply that he couldn't decide how to breathe.

Or that Eiji was giving him the illusion of freedom.

Maybe. A timid suspicion strengthened in Itachi’s mind with every passing second; that he wasn't trapped in a genjutsu, that whatever was happening to him was _real_ , but that had to be the trick taking hold. He was either in a genjutsu, or he’d gone mad.

Either way, he had to escape. And for the time being, escaping meant playing along until his captors grew complacent and gave him an opening. It shouldn't be too difficult. Itachi was a good double agent. He’d been been pretending at loyalty for as long as he could remember.

At least twenty minutes went by with only the sound of Itachi’s breaths passing through his nostrils. He was more or less calm when he heard footsteps outside the door, and his heart rate didn't accelerate when the same door opened and someone walked over to stare down at him. Itachi kept his eyes closed, forgetting for the moment that he’d planned to cooperate. Or at least, pretend to.  
“I see what Eiji means.”

Itachi had only heard that voice once in his life. 

Well, countless times, but when its owner had been a child.

“I know you’re awake,” continued his visitor, exasperated. “Hurry up and open your eyes; I actually have shit to do.”

He’d been ready for this. He’d known they’d try this. 

Itachi opened his eyes, then privately congratulated himself for not broadcasting his surprise. It was Sasuke, but older than Itachi had ever seen him. Old enough that he sported a hint of a five-o’clock shadow, and that was more out of place than the thick ponytail that reached down to his waist. Itachi himself had never managed to grow a beard.

“What happened to you?” asked Sasuke.

“I don't know,” said Itachi. Then he smiled because he was being honest to Sasuke, and he thought he’d never get to do that.

“Root?” 

“You know about Root.” Was that a realistic part of the genjutsu? Sasuke was wearing a Konoha headband, and he seemed older. All Konoha-nin past a certain rank and/or age knew about Root.

“No,” Sasuke said, to himself rather Itachi. “Orochimaru?”

“I think I'm getting too long in the teeth for Orochimaru’s tastes.” Itachi frowned. “Is that the expression? I mean I’m too old.”

“Yeah, Orochimaru’s most likely,” said Sasuke, tilting his head. “Poison, or that damned seal of his created some kind of genjutsu kekkei-genkai that can get past the Sharingan. Even yours.”

“So you admit there’s a genjutsu,” said Itachi, weary.

“I'm speculating that there might be one,” said Sasuke, reaching for the handcuffs.

Itachi stiffened. Then he didn't bother to force himself to relax.

“Stop being dramatic,” said Sasuke, breaking the cuff. 

Itachi started down at his hand while Sasuke got rid of the other cuff. The wire and the sealing ink were his true bonds. This was not a true gesture of trust.

“Once we convince a Yamanaka to check you out, we’ll have a better idea of what’s happening.”

“I'm going to kill you for this,” said Itachi.

“Yeah, yeah,” dismissed Sasuke. “You’re gonna kill _someone_ for this, after we figure out what they did to you, and how. Ibiki’s gonna be glad we saved you.”

***

Hatake Kakashi - the Rokudaime, apparently (which Itachi admitted made sense) - solidified the seals wrapped around Itachi’s forearms. 

He had to let them do it. Subdued as he was - _sick_ as he was, no matter how much he didn't feel like it - he had no hope of escape. While Itachi was ready to die, was almost looking forward to it, he couldn't let himself go out in a vicious blaze of murderous glory while Sasuke was still out there. So he’d settled for glowering at the guy who was passing himself off as Sasuke, and endured Hatake’s attentions.

Besides, it might really be Konoha that had him. He had no intention of weakening Konoha more than Orochimaru already had. 

“As long as they’re still visible, they’re reversible,” he told Itachi, after he’d finished extending the designs to Itachi’s elbows and beyond, all the way to his deltoids. If Itachi didn't know any better, he’d have said that Hatake had been trying to reassure him.

It hadn't hurt. Itachi hadn't expected that either. Chakra sealing was supposed to hurt, even the half-assed version Hatake had performed.

“I want you capable of defending yourself,” Hatake had said, when Itachi had been unable to hide his shock. “Still, most jounin in the village could take you down with you in these seals.”

Maybe. But it was too easy. Even with minimal access to his chakra, Itachi could wreak havoc. He should've had to work much harder for even this much leeway.

“Y’know, this could’ve gone worse,” Eiji said hours later, after Hatake had dismissed them. Dismissed Itachi into Eiji’s custody. “I’m even gonna get time off the trauma team. Yay,” he added without inflection and with a sour grin. “Too bad you’re not putting out, or this’d be a real vacation.”

Eiji had led them to the apartment where Itachi had woken up, naked and in the bastard’s arms. The lady from the morning must have been waiting, because she appeared as Eiji slipped his key into the door, arms crossed over a flowery apron.

“Those damned birds are still around,” she said, looking up at Eiji.

“I got nothing to do with them,” said Eiji, shrugging. There ought to be a more severe word for it. Eiji was big to begin with, and he engaged in every action like he was an actor making sure to project to the last row in the theater. 

“He needs to get rid of them.”

“ _He_ is standing right the fuck next to me, Keiko,” said Eiji, pointing at Itachi. “And he’s not deaf, so you tell _him_ to get rid of his summons.”

‘Keiko' didn't even look at Itachi. “All you shinobi are the same,” she said, before stepping pack and slamming her door shut.

“I thought she lived upstairs,” said Itachi.

“Yeah, she comes down to gossip with her friend,” said Eiji, eyes narrowed.

Itachi disregarded him and stared at the door Keiko had slammed shut. Why would a genjutsu give him annoying neighbors?

“Come on,” said Eiji. “You really do need to get rid of your crows, by the way. They’re gonna shit up the place.”

Itachi followed him into the apartment, thinking and trying not to think all at once. He went out onto the balcony, glancing at the bookcase with the anatomy books and Jiraiya’s novels, while Eiji babbled. It didn't seem important to listen to him anymore. Some crows remained outside, though not as many as Itachi had left behind. They stilled as Itachi approached. Itachi sensed their caution. And confusion.

“Babe, we’re making a schedule,” said Eiji, walking onto the balcony. “I'm taking nights, obviously - let me know if you change your mind about the sex - and then it’s gonna be Sasuke, Naruto, Pink, your shitty ex, and Chizou -- seriously, get rid of these things!” He scowled at the crows. 

Itachi waited for him to attack the birds, but Eiji just stood there, scowling. “Who’s Chizou?” asked Itachi. 

He guessed that ‘Pink' was Haruno Sakura, since she was the third member of Sasuke’s team and had pink hair. His ‘ex' would probably be another ANBU like Eiji. That was all almost logical.

But Chizou? That sounded like an Akimichi name. They would have wanted nothing to do with him. They should want nothing to do with him.

“At least I’m not the only one you forgot,” said Eiji.

The crows were remained dead still. Itachi told himself that his captors were interfering with their attempts to rescue him, but that didn't make sense. They were only crows. An enemy that could trap him in a genjutsu like this would have no trouble eliminating them.

“Itachi.”

“There’s no genjutsu,” said Itachi. A gust of wind blew some hair in front of his eyes and tickled his nose. Annoying.

Genjutsu weren't _annoying_. They were terrifying or joyful. They were _extreme_. Why waste time on a feeling as easily ignored as annoyance?

“No,” said Eiji. “Itachi, can I do a quick neuro exam? I'm not gonna use chakra, or even touch you. I just need you to answer a few questions and follow a few simple commands. Can we do that? Please?”

Itachi looked straight at him. Something in his expression made Eiji step back.

“If this isn't a genjutsu, then what the _fuck_ happened to me?”

“And he’s cursing,” said Eiji, showing the palms of his hands, long fingers spread wide.  
The most neutral position a ninja could adopt, because it was slightly harder to make hand seals with the fingers spread out like that.

“I don't know what happened to you,” said Eiji. 

Should Itachi attack him? Kill him? Could he even, with the seals he’d let them put on him?

“Please don't do this,” said Eiji, grey eyes wide. 

Itachi walked around him, gaze fixed on him in case he attacked, back into the apartment. He just needed a second to _think_.  
A moment later, he was in the bathroom, gasping at his own reflection. His heart hammered in his chest. He paused, suddenly startled by his own flushed cheeks, then closed his eyes and forced a couple of deep breaths. His lungs’ easy expansion didn't shock him anymore. 

“You wanna tell me more about what you think happened?” Eiji asked from behind him.

Itachi hadn't even heard him come in. Damned panic attacks.

“Babe?”

“Don't call me that,” snapped Itachi. Even if there was no genjutsu (and there wasn't; somehow, there _wasn't_ ), the pet name couldn't be more than an obvious attempt at ingratiation.

“Okay.”

But if it wasn't a genjutsu, then Itachi had no idea what it was. Was he crazy? No. Maybe. Even if he was, it didn't explain why he could _breathe_. 

“You helped you cousin Shisui drown himself right before your clan tried to take over the village,” said Eiji.

Itachi froze. No one knew that part of it. Not even the Third. Itachi swore he’d take it to his grave, not that he would have had to. The world was content to believe that he’d killed Shisui. Even most Uchiha didn't know of the Mangekyo, and they were all dead anyway. 

“Your mother used to cover for you when you didn't want to go to your cousins’ birthday parties.”

Yes. Itachi hadn’t thought of that since he’d seen a child scowling at a birthday cake while undercover for Akatsuki in Rain. 

“And you--”

“--Shut up,” said Itachi. He just had to think. Just _think_. He wasn't even in pain. 

“Itachi.”

He whirled around. Eiji took a step backwards. 

Itachi could just walk over and kill him. Or at least try. So far, he’d done next to nothing to test the limits of his situation. What would be the worst thing about it? He was a valuable captive. They wouldn't kill him just for attacking some random ninja. They wouldn't kill him for _killing_ some random ninja. He still had some access to his chakra. It was worth a try.

“I was in Kiri with my partner,” said Itachi. The words came out stilted, but that was alright. That was better than alright. They would expect him to be conflicted.

“Hoshi-whatever Kisame?” asked Eiji.

Itachi nodded. “We were there to assassinate a drug dealer who had some control over the smuggling routes between Water and Fire Country.” That would be easy enough to corroborate. Itachi didn't really care about Pain’s dumb plans anyway. “Then my lungs worsened, and Kisame offered to handle it on his own.”

“You think he’s your friend,” said Eiji.

Itachi faltered. He didn't even have to fake it with this ANBU. “Yes, I suppose I do. Kisame is. . .” Not dumb. “Straightforward.” They might have even been genuine friends, had they been born in the same village. Or in a less terrible world.

“That’s good,” said Eiji. 

“What?”

“That even when you’re crazy, you still have friends.”

Another attempt to build trust. A clumsy one. “I told Kisame I was fine. He didn't believe me, but still left me alone in our room. I went to lie down, and next thing I know, I’m awake in bed with you.”

“No pain?”

“I'm always in pain,” shrugged Itachi. He took a step towards the ANBU.

Eiji didn't step back, or even tense. Good.

“That’s. . .” Eiji frowned, not paying attention as Itachi closed the distance between them. “But I was with you all night. You were fine; in a good mood, even.”

“Was I?”

“Well, in a good mood for _you_ ,” said Eiji.

A kunai peeked out from a pack strapped to his belt, almost as if he’d put it there to tease Itachi.

“Could we kiss?” asked Itachi.

“What?” 

Wrong move. Itachi was absolute shit at honeytrapping, despite his above-average features. Now the bastard was frowning down at Itachi, shoulders tense. “Maybe it’ll jog my memory.” 

Eiji’s eyes narrowed, and he took a careful step backwards. “No, it’s better if you stand over there right now.”

Damn it. Itachi’s eyes flitted towards Eiji’s weapon. He couldn't help it. 

Obviously, Eiji noticed. “All right, I know you don't remember me and don't believe the shit I'm saying, but things are going to get really bad for you if you attack me.”

Itachi took a step forward.

Eiji let out a pained snort and _turned around_ and exited the bathroom. To put it mildly, what the _hell?_ Why would Eiji leave him alone? Was he really alone?

Probably not, but there was no time to waste. If this was “his" house, then he’d have weapons hidden in every room. He punched a hole in the wall, right over the toilet. His knuckles ached, which was only surprising because, usually, his joints _always_ hurt. A set of shuriken, his favorite type, were hidden behind the plaster. Itachi quirked his lips, keeping an ear out for Eiji - or any other ANBU - that might burst through the door. 

Nothing. He stretched his fingers and followed after Eiji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


End file.
